Last Thoughts of the Last Battalion
by catsvrsdogscatswin
Summary: The title's pretty much self-explanatory...this is the first time I'm trying this "drabble" thing you guys do so much, and I warn you, I'm not very good at drabbling. I dunno, I'm just bored and I thought of doing this, and since I was supposed to be doing something else I thought I'd go ahead and do this instead. And in case it wasn't obvious, there's character death in here.
1. Schrödinger

I feel sorry for some people.

They seem so stupid.

I am everywhere, but nowhere, so I know.

It's _funny_.

People think they're so important.

We all die eventually.

But I don't stay dead.

It's _amusing_.

I can be shot, blown up, incinerated, drowned, all those things, and it will do nothing.

It's why I'm so important.

I'm the real trump card of the Last Battalion.

It's _hilarious_.

I know the Major's plans, down to the last detail.

I know everyone's going to die.

I know I am going to stay dead.

It's _ludicrous_.

What a tragedy.

What a comedy.

What a farce.

It's _hysterical_.

The Major intends to charge straight down to hell and drag all his allies, his enemies, and the bystanders with him.

Including those I find interesting.

Including me.

It's _comical_.

They honestly expect to beat him? Did they not pay attention to the fates of challenger after challenger, victim after victim?

Alucard is not a mere monster.

But neither am I.

It's _priceless_.

As I put the knife to my neck, I remember the creed.

_My honor is loyalty._

The Captain obeys this without question, because he is a dog.

It's _ridiculous_.

I am a _cat_.

My only loyalty to anyone is because it amuses me to do so.

The Major and his war are very amusing.

It's _side-splitting_.

Life itself to me is one big joke.

I laugh, I die, I laugh again.

The humans laugh, die, cry, live, lose, breath, gasp.

So desperately.

It's _laughable_.

My head is now separate from my shoulders, my little laugh echoing behind me as I fall into the river of blood.

The River of Death.

Alucard's domain, I am falling into the endless abyss of madness that is the _vampire king_.

It's _riotous_.

I am sucked into nothing, and then I am no longer me.

I'm everywhere and nowhere.

But now I am nowhere and nothing because I can't find myself.

It's _mirthful_.

Alucard is vanishing, and so am I, or what used to be.

I can no longer sense anything or nothing.

I am nothing.

It's _uproarious_.

So now, I, Warrant Officer Schrödinger, am dead.

Alucard is dead.

Permanently.

It's _wonderful_.


	2. Hans

Wolves have packs.

I am a wolf.

I have a pack.

Humans have friends.

Humans have family.

I am a human.

I do not have friends.

I do not have a family.

Humans distinct so much between these very similar things. A pack is a group that you belong to and hunt for, obey the alpha of, die for if needed. A family is a small pack that humans seem to fixate upon, like fawning lambs. I see no difference except in terms of loyalty.

Lambs have no loyalty.

Packs do.

I am given a high rank within this "pack", a "trump card", like the vampire "Alucard". The Major and the Doctor and the others all address me as Captain.

I am Captain.

I am Captain Hans Gunsche.

I am a werewolf.

Monsters like me are very different from humans. I do not wish for human things like happiness, love, warmth, food, talk.

Talking is useless to me, so I do not do it.

I do not want _those_ things.

I want Death.

I hoped that death would come for me when the Major first found me.

It did not.

He actually prolonged my life, took me to a place with healing and shelter and the few things I _do_ need.

But now I have a chance for death.

The Hellsing wants my death.

This "war" against "Alucard" is nothing I care of.

I only fight for the chance to die.

Now I have a chance to die.

This "Seras Victoria", this vampiress, this Draculina, she can kill me.

Zorin was told not to underestimate her.

She did not obey.

I will obey.

I will not underestimate my death.

I want it too much.

Her guns are borrowed and mine are modified, but this round is a draw nevertheless.

She is strong.

But she is also very reckless with her new power, and I can easily guide her down to a place we will not be disturbed.

I want her to kill me.

I want to die.

She does not want to kill me.

She is going to die.

I am frustrated at her failure, her surrender, her weakness.

The Major said not to underestimate her.

He was right.

As my foot impacts where her head had been, she is gone.

She seems confused.

She looks like she is hearing voices.

A vampire who does not understand what she fully is.

But she is learning.

Now she smiles, a particular fire in her eyes that makes me certain she is the one as she lets her arm flow out on the air, grinning at me.

Don't be reckless.

I am still much stronger than you.

Her foot comes within an inch of my face as I bend backwards, an angle most humans would find backbreaking.

I am not most humans.

Now she slams her shadowy arm on the ground, hoping to kill me that way as shadows sprout from the floor and impale me all across the chest and stomach.

Not enough.

It isn't enough to kill me.

More.

Kill me more.

I easily vanish away from the shadows and even perch on one, waiting for her next move.

I want to die.

She will kill me.

I have to die.

She has to kill me.

Her fingers scrape across the ground, and she blinks, lifting a gold tooth.

It gives me an idea as she starts and looks wildly around at the treasure scattered around us.

I do not want such material things.

I want death.

She must give me my death.

I kick a silver tooth at her as she impulsively catches it, looking shocked.

She stares at it, looking more shocked.

Yes. I am a werewolf.

You kill me with silver.

Use it.

She clenches her fist at it, staring at me as I take a defensive stance.

I am a wolf.

I do not surrender and give in.

I must earn my death, just as you must earn the right to kill me.

She talks to her familiar, and I decide I have had enough of the chitchat.

I flow towards her like the nothing I am, impacting her solidly on her crossed arms as she chokes and flies back, bleeding.

However, she grins and tears a large bombshell out of the ruins of the zeppelin, throwing at me with colossal force.

Trivial.

I am a werewolf after all.

I kick a block at it, blowing it up before it can distract me further.

I wait.

I know it was a screen, a distraction, and that she will come at me from above, her favored direction.

She comes into my swing, pinching me with the fluid arm of shadows as it bursts apart and then swinging with her other arm, meeting mine as both explode from the force exerted.

My other arm is already useless from her shadows.

I am helpless.

A human would be, at least.

But I am not human.

I swing for her with my leg, which she catches easily in her fanged mouth.

The pain is negligible.

I am going to die.

I cannot move.

Her arm comes alive, her familiar speaks to me, and I am ended.

The silver enters my heart, breaking my tag.

I am dead.

The blood is crimson as it spills out of my chest and I collapse on the ground.

I am dying.

I have my wish.

I laugh, silently as the blue fire reaches up and envelops me in a cold agony.

I am dying.

I am dying.

I howl gleefully as the last images fade, sensation deadening, the sound of my own happiness filling my ears as I sink into nothing.

I am Captain.

I am Hans Gunsche.

I am dead.


	3. Rip Van Winkle

_**FIY: For the lyrics, it's the original German, then the English. It's actually Das Engellandlied, not**_ _**Der Freischütz.**_

_Heute wollen wir ein Liedlein singen_

I sing because I think it is a lovely thing.

Hunters so very often have no lovely things.

After all, what would be left to hunt?

_Today we want to sing a little song_

I have my gun, and I have my aim.

"The Magic Bullet Marksman."

"Der Freischütz."

_Trinken wollen wir den kühlen Wein_

I am Kaspar, so then who is Zamiel?

I don't care.

I sing, I shoot, I hunt.

_We want to drink the cool wine_

I am Rip Van Winkle.

My bullet punishes all without distinction.

All but one.

_Und die Gläser sollen dazu klingen_

Zamiel, the Black Huntsman.

His is my death.

The Major told me so.

_And the glasses should sound to_

Zamiel is an aura I can feel from the sea, from the metal deck, from the midst of the glory of my very own _Der Freischütz_.

Death. Death. Death.

The Huntsman has come for me on a steed of black iron and fiery steel.

_Denn es muß, es muß geschieden sein._

Nothing I can do can stop him.

Guns are useless. Grenades are dust.

Those who presume to dress the dead and play among them shall join their ranks. My punishment has come.

_For it must, it must be divorced._

The plane, his steed, has collapsed into fire and glory and death, shooting red and sparks into the sky like the hellfire I will soon see with my glazed, dead eyes.

But he is still there.

My soldiers are all dead, my courage is dust, the carrier in flames that highlight my doom like the demon he is as he mocks me and laughs.

_Gib' mir deine Hand, deine weiße Hand_

But I am the huntress Rip Van Winkle. I will not die without a fight.

The sea is near. Even fiery Zamiel cannot survive in the crushing cold depths of the ocean.

I fire.

_Give me your hand, your white hand_

It does not work. I am stunned.

My bullet has never been defeated before with such ease. I tremble as he approaches once more, utterly and truly out of my courage and my wits.

He punches me, grabs me, his hands both cold and burning with damnation and fire and cold icy death.

_Leb' wohl, mein Schatz, leb' wohl mein Schatz_

I choke, I scream, I fall limp, my own beloved gun slowly running me through as Zamiel grins, his demented smile a burning white against my sagging eyelids.

I can't see.

I can't breathe.

_Farewell, my love, farewell my love_

His breath fans against my face…its cold and icy and reeking of blood and what he is made of, of death.

He is Zamiel. He is death.

He is my doom.

_Leb' wohl, lebe wohl_

I twitch and squirm weakly as hands grabs me, the demon kneeling before my feet as if in mock worship and licking up my blood, lapping it like a devilish cat.

He's dragging it out.

He wants me to know I am defeated and become nothing, to break and shatter.

_Farewell, farewell_

The burning plane and the crackling ship make it seem like I'm already in hell as he gets up, his mouth bloody and his teeth stained.

I choke as my neck is caught between his ferocious maw, teeth scraping down against bone as he starts to suck me into his nothing.

The Major is talking as I am drained, but I hear nothing but the _Freischütz_ thundering in time to my slowing heartbeat.

_Denn wir fahren, denn wir fahren_

Lights dance across my eyes, not the soft white of unconsciousness, but the flaming damnation of a funeral pyre, crimson red and pitch black and glaring orange mixed with searing yellow, my very essence flowing apart into the grip of Zamiel.

I scream.

But it makes very little sound, my throat in tatters and the fangs of Zamiel strangling any sound, any protest, any last gasp.

_Because we go, because we drive_

Major…I didn't want to die.

I wanted to sing some more.

I wanted to hunt more, greater prey.

_Denn wir fahren gegen Engeland, Engeland._

But I can't. Zamiel has me.

I could do nothing.

The thought is somewhat comforting, even as I am bled into the existence of my enemy, as my mind is torn away, it sooths me.

_Because we sail against England, England._

There was nothing I could've done. There was nothing anyone could ever do.

This was Zamiel. This was doom.

This was the true Black Hunter.


	4. Zorin Blitz

_***Zorin's also requires a bit of explanation. The Brown Insanity is one of her nicknames, as well as a term for a Nazi belief. Also, Zorin has three eyes, one in her hand and two on her face, and they're all mismatched (one purple (hand), one dark green (magic eye), and one light green (normal eye), so I always wondered if her reality perception was different than normal people's. Danke! X3**_

Illusions.

I am the master of illusions.

I am Zorin Blitz, the Brown Insanity.

I am insane.

The world as I see it is distorted, warped, filled with the pain and suffering of those around me.

So much death.

So much sorrow.

So much agony.

It fills my ears with the melody, the lullaby of the drowning souls.

My right side is the insanity, the madness, the pulsing letters and shapes that warp the world into what I see.

My left side is the normal, the scythe-wielding _Schutzstaffel _of Millennium.

I kill.

I destroy.

I maim and mangle the minds and lives of my enemies until they are splintered and fractured into my very own shreds of insanity.

It is my job.

It is my illusion.

This girl, this Seras Victoria, she is nothing.

She is a bug to be crashed under the magic of my all-seeing hand.

I see her through my eye, through my magic, through the cracked and shattered mirror shards of my sanity as my magic envelops the minds of those within Hellsing Manor.

She will die.

I will crush her between my letters and pentagrams of will.

All within shall die.

The Brown Insanity will sweep them away.

Ah!

A shard of that_ gun_ that _whore_ always drags around.

My illusion is broken.

That _miststück_!

No mercy.

The Insanity shall sweep them all into _hell_.

Hell!

_Hell_!

HELL!

Hell is coming for these _insects_.

My men are swatting them like _flies_, grinding them into the cracks and crannies they cower in like the _ants_ they are.

I enter this "stronghold", blood sliding down the walls as my scythe gleams eagerly to be bathed in the same wonderful sacrement of lucidity, lunacy, and death.

I weave the flies into my web of blind insanity, of raging madness, of groaning souls crushed beneath their own agony and despair.

So close...

But my men are all weak.

They all sucumb to that _miststück_, that _fool_ Seras Victoria.

She is weak.

She is nothing.

She is a bug to be ground under my jackboot.

Her guns are empty.

Her mind is open.

She is _dead_.

Her mind is crushed under the wave of pure madness, her soul enraptured by the shattered deformity of my Brown Insanity.

Deeper in.

Deeper.

Further.

Further in.

Further into the reaches of my fragmented lunacy.

The letters are everywhere.

The sigils are burned into my retinas.

I can see nothing but Insanity.

The Brown Insanity.

I slide up behind her, poor little vampiress.

She is lost in the madness.

The souls are calling to her.

They are screaming for her to join the Insanity.

She is gasping for air she doesn't need.

The madness is showing her the distorted reality of my world.

_Slash_.

Your arm is gone little bug.

Now you're back from my world into yours.

But I am still seeing the dancing shards of madness swirling about your essence.

The Insanity is still singing to me.

The scythe sinks deep into your back, and I feel the jolt as it severs your spine.

Now you can't move little bug.

You struggle onto your little stumps and squirm about in the pool of your blood as I laugh.

I stomp onto your head and watch as you still saquirm pitifully under my jackboot.

Weak.

You are weak.

Weak little bug.

It's fun to play with bugs.

The Brown Insanity swirls and devores them into the gaping maw of lunacy.

My scythe comes up as I grab the bug by her hair and drag her up, eager and waiting to be stained with the wonderful liquid of crimson madness.

Now the bug is blind.

Now she cannot see.

Now I am done playing.

I am going to cut her head from her shoulders and savor the Brown Insanity within and drink the blood dripping from the chin and neck as I laugh.

_WHAT_?!

There is another man, an insignificant fool, an _insect _barely worthy of being caught between my fingers.

Foolish little man.

I'm a member of the _Werewolves_.

I am one of the _Warmongers_.

Silver doesn't stop me for long.

A lead bullet is nothing but air.

_Twmp._

Now the bug is pierced on my needle and ready for display.

Drop hero, drop and surrender your mind to the Brown Insanity.

Now you both will die.

Now the Brown Insanity will consume you both.

I wait, my late arrivals slowly fading up behind me as the insect dies, the wails of the other bug ringing in tune to the wonderful chorus of agonized souls surrounding my vision.

I taunt her about the bug she so wails for, my Brown Insanity spreading through the walls and invading the minds of my victims.

She says something softly, and I pause.

Last words little gnat?

Suddenly something the air changes.

The little blood droplets splattered across the ground rise up, drawn towards this insect as she bares her tiny little fangs.

What...what are you planning?

I am Zorin Blitz.

I am the Brown Insanity.

What are you planning bug?

What are you going to do?

Alucard is strong.

You are weak.

But you are his fledgling.

If you had taken blood, you would have been a worthy opponet.

It is too late for you.

So why do you try to change the battle?

You bite him, you drain him, the blood sliding across my madness towards you as your uniform slowly turns a rusty crimson, your teeth dripping with the wonderful stain of insanity as you rise up.

What...what is this?

_You are weak!_

But you are not acting weak!

Your eyes...I can see your eyes!

My madness, my Insanity, it's shattering!

What the hell?!

Your arm...your back...your eyes...

You are _wounded, dying_, and yet you stand there like a gorgon out of hell and my men, my Waffin SS, are _terrified_!

She...she is _slaughtering_ them.

So this is vengeance.

So this is lucidity.

So this is death.

I won't die.

I won't be killed by a bug.

My hand tightens around my scythe, and then she is upon me.

She grabs my face, grinding me across the ground before we skid to a stop.

My scythe, my gleaming moon edge of smiling death, is lost in the struggle.

No.

I am not weak.

I am not a BUG like her.

My fist clenches, and I punch her as she pushes my head down, again and again.

My illusion hand is wrapped around her wrist to stop her from crushing my skull.

Ah!

Pain again.

She has bitten off my fingers, and part of my hand.

Her fangs are sharp, sharper than my own.

So this is a true vampire? This is what Doc is striving to create?

It is powerful.

But _she_ is weak!

As my head slowly caves in the floor beneath it, I reach up and grab HER face with my hand of illusions.

I am the Brown Insanity.

Lunacy is my element.

Lucidity is my enemy.

Her mind is shattered shards and screaming souls, as is everything I see, everything I touch.

Insanity is all.

Nothing can hold against it.

SHOW ME YOUR PAIN.

Suddenly, there is something wrong.

This suffering is not hers.

But it is hers.

What the hell?!

No…no!

She is beyond my reach!

My ultimate eye cannot penetrate this goddamned armor!

_Damn you_!

DAMN YOU SERAS VICTORIA, DAMN YOU!

What…Schrödinger?

What the hell is HE doing here?

A message…

But Major I…I was WINNING!

I was KILLING her!

Just a few more seconds and I…

Am going to die.

That bastard Major has abandoned me to HER.

The hand comes through the shards and they are shattered into nothing, the fingers grabbing my face in a bloody vise of death.

I am lifted like a scrap of _paper_, slammed against the wall.

And she starts to move.

Oh god…no!

I don't want to die like this!

Burn me Major!

Burn me to ashes and spare this humiliation!

I DON'T WANT TO BE KILLED BY AN INSECT!

Insanity is singing a song around me as I am scraped away, my blood flowing across the wall like a fountain from hell.

Shards of my Insanity swirl and rage around me as my vision grows narrower and narrower, then my right eye is taken.

Going to die.

Zorin Blitz is going to die.

You are going to die.

Madness is singing to me, the souls wailing in a thunderous symphony, chorus of agony, solo of despair.

Going to die.

Going to die.

Zorin Blitz is going to die.

Brown Insanity…swirling madness…

Lunacy has me.

This world is ash.


End file.
